Every single Wednesday, since my first grandchild, Mary Jane, was born, my husband and I have spent that day with her. When she was first born, I went to her house in Rivermont. A few weeks later, her parents began bringing her up here to our home on Lookout Mountain.
An infant, she took two naps a day, and nodded off a bit in between them. Before we knew it, she rubbed her little tummy when she was hungry and threw up her hands in the air when she was full. We practiced tummy time each morning on the little quilt her great aunt had made. I ordered developmental toys on Amazon as I followed her development on the internet. I knew when it was time for stark black and white drawings on heavy card stock and stacking brightly colored cups and “Where’s Spot?”
I read “Pat the Bunny” to her long before I thought I should, and she sat in my lap like a little doll and looked at the pictures of Paul and Judy as they did all sorts of things. She loved to rub her baby hand over the soft white fur and put her chubby little finger through “Mommy’s ring.”…